


Dirty Pretty Things

by NopeNotGonnaDoIt



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: ANGST DEAR GOD THE ANGST, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Ben Solo Needs A Hug, Emotional Constipation, F/M, Kylo Ren Cam God, Minor Armitage Hux/Rose Tico, Minor Poe Dameron/Finn, Misunderstandings, Panty Kink, Past Abuse, Rey is strong as fuck, and they were ROOMMATES, but it's really just that they're all stupid, non-con elements, oh my god they were roommates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-22 09:30:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22713880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NopeNotGonnaDoIt/pseuds/NopeNotGonnaDoIt
Summary: Rey was the one thing, the only thing, in Ben's ugly life that he hadn’t touched with his filth.Rey was the one thing he thought he could keep pure from everything else that marred the surface.And he had. For so long.Until that day.Sometimes, he likes to blame that one day, to rue it as a fated downfall, instead of actually taking responsibility for the fact that it was all his choices that led him to where he is.It all started so small. The catalyst that threw this whole sordid ordeal into motion, was so, so small. The one thing that devolved their three years of blissful co-existence as roommates into something sinister and gross, was so small.And lacy.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 2
Kudos: 46





	Dirty Pretty Things

**Author's Note:**

> Okay guys, here’s the deal.
> 
> There ARE some issues with dubious consent in here, but it never extends into anything physical and no one is hurt because of it. I want to put this out here very clearly that I do not endorse some of the actions taken by many of these characters in this very fictional work, they are all working through their own bullshit and do really dumb stuff.
> 
> If you are unsure about this fic because of the dubcon elements, you can scroll to the post-chapter notes and see a what all the fuss is about (which includes spoilers) to see if it is something you would be into. If it’s not, that’s cool, there are so many other beautiful works on here. Maybe I’ll see you in a later fic.

Of course he feels guilty.

Every time he does it, it feels as if it is happening to someone else, that someone else is sneaking into his roommate’s room, that someone else is opening the top drawer of her dresser, that someone else’s hand in reaching in, skimming their skin across the soft lace and cotton.

But he knows it is not someone else, because if it were, he would murder them. He would rip out their throat and feed them their own intestines, making them watch as they swallowed their own body down, if this were anyone else treating Rey’s things the way he was. The way he is.

And he knows he has to stop, but every time he tells himself it is the last time, he knows he is lying to himself.

Because he always finds himself there, looming over her chest of drawers, holding his breath because he can’t bear to hear his own staggered breathing while he’s doing this, his fingers finding their way to the knobs of her top drawer. 

He hates himself. 

Well, he has always hated himself, so that’s nothing new, but never with Rey. 

Rey was the one thing, the only thing, in his ugly life that he hadn’t touched with his filth. 

All of it, the underhanded dealings, the stress, the sordid details of how he earned his money, all of it he could keep from her. She was his haven from it, in fact, something small that would remind him of his humanity at the end of the day. That he could just be Ben and that would be enough.

She was one thing he thought he could keep pure from everything else that marred the surface of his life.

And he had. For so long. 

Until _that_ day.

Sometimes, he likes to blame _that one_ day, to rue it as a fated downfall, instead of actually taking responsibility for the fact that it was all his choices that led him to where he is. 

It all started so small. The catalyst that threw this whole sordid ordeal into motion, was so, so small. The one thing that devolved their three years of blissful co-existence as roommates into something sinister and gross, was so small.

And lacy.

* * *

It happened during Rey’s hurried morning rush, as she dashed to get her clean clothes out of the dryer and cram them into her laundry basket, with a toothbrush in her mouth, and her towel still piled on top of her head from her shower. 

Ben always stood dumbfounded in the kitchen, attached to their cove of a laundry “room”, as she zipped around him in her morning ritual, stopping on each go around to take another bite of the breakfast he always cooked for both of them. 

One day, one day out of the literal hundreds they had engaged in this little melodrama, one day, he noticed something, something a deep sapphire blue drop from her laundry basket.

And there it was, on the floor. Her tiny panties, all lace, all see through, on the floor of their goddamn kitchen, where they ate their goddamn food.

Ben bent down before he knew what he was doing, willing himself to say: “Hey, Rey, you dropped something.”

It would be so easy, it wouldn’t even be embarrassing, not really, not after all the times she had held his hair back when he puked his guts into a toilet bowl after long nights out in college.

How could it be awkward? After they nursed each other back to health during the Solo/Jakku flu epidemic of 2017? There were so many liquids and tissues and smells.

Or the heat outage of 2018? 

Which caused the Great Emergency Room debacle of 2018, when Ben had thought he could mess with Rey’s makeshift space heater, as if he knew half of what she did about machines. One (small) explosion later and Rey had rebandaged his blistering and putrid infection for weeks, rubbing ointment on the parts of his back he could not reach. 

No, it wouldn’t be awkward, it wouldn’t be anything, he would throw them back into the basket and that would be that.

Except when he opens his mouth, nothing comes out. He stands there, with her panties in his hand, and says nothing.

When he looks down at them, he is caressing them, right where the fabric would meet her cunt, and he stills.

_Fuck._

He hears her padding back down the hallway, and without thinking, stuffs them into his suit pocket.

She smiles when she gets back into the kitchen, toothbrush still hanging out the side of her mouth, and spits into the sink, rinsing her toothbrush before grabbing the mug from his hand and swigging.

“No, Rey, it’s not cof---!”

But he’s too late, of course. Rey sprays the drink across the kitchen, before wiping her mouth and giving Ben a dirty look. 

“Really? _GRAPEFRUIT_ juice, Solo? Sometimes I don’t even think I really know you.”

 _You have no idea_ , he thinks, as she shoves bacon into her mouth while wiping down the splatter from the juice from the wall and counters, _no fucking idea._

* * *

He carries her panties with him all day, that first day. 

They are in his front pocket, and as he walks, he can feel them rub against his dick. 

Rey, things Rey has had near her, rubbing against him.

It is the first day at his job that he himself walks everything down to the mailroom, instead of getting his assistant to run it down. 

As meetings drone on, Ben's thoughts wander to the panties in his pocket. Near him. Safe. His secret from the world. 

A warmth blooms within him, turning the war within him to jelly for a few moments as he thinks of her being near him for real, thinks of her willingly giving this to him, before the truth seeps in and turns it to ash again.

That night, like every night, he gets home before she does, and he sneaks into her room. He doesn’t really need to sneak, it’s not as if he isn’t in there a lot when she is at work, but never for any nefarious reason, like returning her panties that have been making him hard all day. It’s because of the damn cat.

Artoo is usually curled up on her bed when he gets home, and he goes into to snuggle with him before heading to the gym.

But today, Artoo isn’t on her bed. He thinks for a second to go and find him, but he remembers what he actually came in here for and closes her door behind him. Artoo doesn’t need to see this. 

He opens her top drawer, it’s always the top drawer, to find her little white bras stacked neatly, next to jumbles of her underwear, thrown in seemingly haphazardly. 

The plan is to just tuck it in, as if it were always there, as if it hadn’t escaped the confines of her laundry basket this morning, as if Ben’s life didn’t just get turned upside down by a pair of fucking panties.

He reaches into his pocket, and slowly drags out the blue panties. They glide against the side of his half hard cock and he shutters, staring down at them in his hand. 

_Fuck._

He can’t, he can’t, not to Rey, not to the one good, pure thing in his life. Fuck everything else, fuck the rest of them, but he can’t let these black tendrils of fucked up want touch her. She doesn’t deserve it. She doesn’t deserve anything bad happening to her, not after everything. Ben Solo would not become something else Rey had to survive. 

_Fuck._

He just wanted to protect her, wanted to make sure she was safe. Wanted her to smell like him, to take a part of him with her, to be fucking safe, wanted to let the fucking world know she was his and to back the fuck off. Who would it hurt? Who would it hurt if it gave him peace of mind?

_Fuck._

God damn he was selfish. He has to almost pry the panties out of his hands, to get back in the drawer, which he does, before slamming the drawer shut, knocking around some of the old vases she and Finn had made in high school ceramics, the one happy memory she had kept from her youth, which were now filled with the flowers from her garden, tucked away on the side of the house. He freezes, but none of them fall, and he runs out of the room as fast as he can, not breathing again until he is back on his bed, where he finds Artoo, fast asleep, his grey fur all over the black comforter. He must have forgotten to shut the door to his bedroom this morning.

_Fuck._

He finds himself in front of his laptop, opening a new incognito tab.

Navigating to the website, his insides churn.

_Kylo_Ren is now live on cam._

* * *

“Ben, Ben, Ben, Ben, Ben.” 

His own name being whispered lifts him out of the coma he fell into on the couch.

“Scoot over, we both know your old man bones can’t take couch sleeping.”

He does as he is told, pushing himself up and wiping his face to try to pull the sleep away from it.

Ben is still dazed as Rey hands him half of the orange she just peeled, “How bad was Hux today?”

He looks at the orange, then back at her. She always does this shit, always offers him half, always cares. Even though food means everything to her, she still shares with him, she always has.

God, she’s too good for him. He shouldn’t even be on this fucking couch with her, not anymore, he should tell her and self-flagellate and move across the country to that god damn monastery with his Uncle and never see any of them ever again.

“That bad, huh?” she wrongly interprets his silence.

“It’s...Hux wasn’t there, he’s in L.A. for some convention.”

“Really? You all have _conventions_? I didn't realize arms dealers had conventions...unless...oh my God, is it a Gun Show? Is Hux at a Gun Show right now?"

"Rey, it's been three years, I don't know how many times I need to tell you that I am not an arms dealer. I am an engineer who just happens to work for a defense contractor...what are you doing?"

Beside him, Rey has her sleeves pulled up to her shoulders, and was lost in flexing and unflexing her very formidable biceps.

"Stop that," he weakly orders, more for himself growing warm from the sight of her strong body than because he is actually bothered by it.

She smiles before rolling her sleeves down, "Rose didn’t say anything. She usually wants to sleep over when he’s not in town.”

“I think she is at Paige’s.”

“How do you know more about my best friend than I do right now?”

“Finn is your best friend.”

“Oh yeah,” she supplies, as if genuinely reminded of his status, before smiling that smile at him. He stills, frozen by her, but she doesn’t notice, and instead, reaches over him for her phone on the coffee table.

“So, Hux isn’t the reason you stress passed out on the couch?” she asks, mindlessly checking her notifications.

Ben puffs out a laugh, stuck in his statue of a body, “No.”

She tosses her phone beside her, turning her full attention towards him, “What’s wrong, then?”

“Nothing.” It is clipped and blunt, a byproduct of her sudden searing attention, and causes her to sink back into the cushions a bit.

“Okay. Keep your secrets then,” she slips the last bit of her orange past her lips and reaches for the remote on the ottoman. She is used to these little outbursts, sure. She is used to him bottling up before the deluge.

“Want to watch Baby Yoda?” she asks, because whatever it is, she can wait until he is ready to tell her.

“That’s not what that show is called."

“Yeah, but, I mean, do you want to watch it?”

Ben sighs, “Yeah, yeah I do.”

She queues it up and gets comfortable, draping the blanket that lives on the back of the couch over both of them and angling her feet towards him, waiting for him to decompress and spill what’s wrong.

They get through two episodes, and still, nothing except for a "you want some water?" from Ben (for the record, she replies that she would like some apple juice, so he brings her a cup of apple juice with a much larger side of water). 

After they get done debating where to rank Baby Yoda in the realm of Star Wars characters (number one for Rey, not even top ten for Ben), she yawns, before pulling the blanket off of just her and piling it on top of Ben.

"Alright, I'm gonna go scroll Baby Yoda memes until I fall asleep. See you in the morning."

"You better not! Sleep Hygiene is real, Rey!"

"Okay, okay. I will do it in the savasana position to get my yoga in."

"That's...not...that's not even---."

“You were wrong, earlier,” she interrupts him before he can have a conniption. 

“About what?” he face scrunches at the sudden change in tone.

“Finn’s not my best friend. You are.”

She turns and walks down the hall, “Night Benedict!”

“Goodnight Reymund," he says back, on autopilot, his heart self-immolating in some awful combination of love and fear.

____________________________

The next two weeks go by without incident. Hux comes back from the conference with some big ideas that keep them all busy drafting and redrafting.

Ben is busy enough to not think about what lies behind her door, and Rey has been hanging out at the garage more lately since his dad just got in a 1967 GT500 Shelby Mustang in baby blue, Rey’s dream car, in for a restoration, so she has been spending her nights after work with her nose parked firmly under its hood. 

And then, it happens again. He is alone in the house.

Rey is spending the night at Finn and Poe’s. Poe is on an international flight schedule now, and is gone for week-long stretches, usually, so the sleepovers aren’t rare. Most of the time, they’re at Finn and Poe’s, but sometimes, they bleed to the Solo/Jakku household.

Tonight, though, is not one of those nights.

Ben is catching up on laundry while he rewatches the last season of _Homeland_ before the season 8 premiere, when he opens the dryer to load it, and sees Rey’s clothes.

Because she never remembers to unload the fucking dryer. 

Most of the time, it’s easy, he just reaches in and grabs it all, plopping it into a basket and setting it on her bed.

He has never even looked at the clothes, mostly, he always has a book or the _New York Times_ up on his iPad in his other hand while he is multitasking.

But this time, this time he is decidedly not multitasking. 

This time, he forgets about everything else, and just stares at it.

He could leave it. He should leave it. 

What is it risking, really, to leave it? Moldy clothes? What is it risking to take it? His friendship? His whole fucking life?

He moves to close it but at the last second his eyes meet blue.

Before he can think again, he is in his room. 

When he looks down, they’re in his hand.

He can’t, he shouldn’t.

Plans start formulating in his head. He needs to move out, needs to leave this house and her, but God, even the thought of it puts knots in his stomach. 

The lace weighted in his hands feels so good. He imagines what it would feel like to touch it as it lays against her skin, his mind wandering to images of her, touching his hair the way she does sometimes when she thinks he’s asleep, writhing against him as they celebrated the Packers winning games, the way her eyes look when she wakes up from a nap and smiles at him groggily.

He’s palming himself, now, through his pajama bottoms, her panties in his hand as he does. 

All of him wants to stop, knows this won’t end the way he wants it to, knows that this would be the end of this slow burn he’s been tending with her.

But another, darker part of him wants to throw gasoline on it, to watch it burn the way he feels inside when he sees her. 

The darkness wins as he unzips his pants and frees his cock, letting the cool November air hit it, before running her panties up and down the length of his already hard shaft.

They are still warm from the dryer and he can pretend, for a moment, it’s because she just took them off, because she wants this, handing them to him of her own free will to play with as she spreads herself wide in front of him, her thatch of dark hair framing the pink, soft flesh beneath. 

He wants to scream, because she never would, now, if she hasn’t already, give herself to him like that. It had been seven fucking years since they met, and she had never, ever made a move, not even in the drunkest of stupors, not even in her most desperate hours. He was unfuckable, to her, at worst, or untouchable, at best, because of their friendship.

They have something so good. But it could be so much better. 

He turns around to his shut door and braces his free hand against it, leaning his weight against it as he repositions the panties, feeling the wet spots on it of his precum as he does.

Staring forward at the white of his door, he beseeches everything holy and unholy to give him the strength of self control to not look down. If he doesn’t look down, it’s not real. If he doesn’t look down, he’s not doing this to his best friend.

Of course, he looks down. 

Before he knows what he’s doing, he’s in her room, stuffing the panties still wet with his cum back into the drawer.

* * *

And then, it becomes an addiction.

**Author's Note:**

> CW: Ben loves his roommate of three years, Rey, but doesn't know how to show it. So, instead, like a dumbass, he steals her panties. After trying to resist, he continues to steal them and use them as masturbatory material, without her knowledge, and therefore, without her consent, before stuffing them back into her drawer like a chastised child. This will become a motif, so if it makes you upset or uncomfortable, this may not be for you. Thanks for reading (or not reading, there's always next fic!).


End file.
